


Know me better than I know myself

by Ebony_Draygon



Category: Guardians of the Galaxy (Movies)
Genre: Blood and Gore, Doppelganger, Hallucinations, M/M, Major Character Injury, Teen Peter Quill, Temporary Character Death, Whump, Yondu Whump, Yondu has the worst luck, kraglin is full of worry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-11
Updated: 2017-12-11
Packaged: 2019-02-13 13:29:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 18,643
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12985059
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ebony_Draygon/pseuds/Ebony_Draygon
Summary: It was supposed to be a simple snatch and grab mission. Despite getting the goods, Yondu is left standard on a hostile planet with only his own mind for company. Rescue had better come soon, he's not sure what will get him first: the heat, the lack of rations or his own damn mind.However, back on the Eclector, Kraglin is trying to get to the bottom of what has got the Captain acting so weird.  Doesn't seem to care about failing the mission (bad), has finally decided to stop coddling Quill (good!) and ignoring Kraglin (very bad). He's going to find out what is going on or die trying.The question is, can he find out in time before the Eclector is repaired and they leave the planet's orbit and Yondu behind.





	1. Damnit Quill!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prepping for a simple snatch and grab mission is never simple when you let Peter Quill be involved.

There were perks to being captain, Yondu felt. One of the biggest he was enjoying at the moment was the large cabin space with equally large bed and very convent bio-lock and thick, sound proof walls. Meant that as soon as he shut the door of his cabin, he was in the one place he could relax. The only place onboard he could reasonably let his guard down.

Yondu arched his back in a stretch before sprawling to take up as much of the fur covered bed as possible. He soon achieved the desired effect of rousing his bed-mate with half awake grumblings.

"Cap'n y' keep tha' up n' 'm gonna' fall outta here," mumbled Kraglin, the skinny first mate tugging even more of the blankets to hog. Yondu gave a menacing grin and sprawled further,k taking extra effort to push as much of himself as feasible into Kraglin's space, whilst still taking up the majority of the bed. What could he say? He was a greedy bastard and if he wanted to claim more bed space then his sleeping companion could just deal with it.

The pleasant snoozing was rudely interrupted by the violent shudder of a distant explosion, followed by the blare of alarms. The sudden ship movement sent both captain and first mate crashing to the floor in a tangle of limbs and blankets. Spitting curses, Yondu scrabbled for his comm unit.

“The fuck is going on?” he barked. Kraglin flailed helplessly beside him as the crackling reply came through.

_“Problem in engineering’,”_ said Horuz in his usual gruff tone. _“Ain’t heard from chief what happened for sure yet.”_

Yondu growled and kicked Kraglin as the man’s flailing for freedom punched him in the pouch. The startled yelp Kraglin made lightened his darkening mood at least a little. The com unit crackled into life once again.

_“Chief jus’ reported in,”_ Horuz said and if anything his tone had gotten even surlier. _“It’s Quill.”_

 

The crew of the Eclector knew to fear the quiet noises rather than the loud ones. Folks brawling and shouting was just the ordinary background noise, whilst hushed conversations drew attention immediately. Worst of course, the one sound you always needed to be aware of was the Captain's whistle.

It was a sound Yondu was sorely tempted to let out right at that moment and skewer his Terren pest to the wall.

"Jus' what in the hell did ya think you were doin', boy?!" he hissed, the constants clicking in his anger. He felt like he was barely restraining the whistle behind his teeth and yet the lanky Terren youth seemed oblivious to the danger he was in.

"Hey, you were the one that told me to clean out the engines," Peter gripped. He stuck his hands deep into his jacket pockets and slouched. He was the spitting image of a sullen teenager. "Not my fault they got gummed up."

"Not yer fault?" Yondu snarled. He took small victory in the slight flinch Quill gave. Good, least the boy realised he'd messed up. "You'd jus' better be grateful ya didn't take out all the engines, else I'd have you thrown in the stew pot t' save air!" He growled as he turned away from Peter, his coat tails snapping behind him as he walked.

Busted engines were always bad news on a spaceship. On one the size of the Eclector, systems were designed so that if one engine failed, you'd still be able to limp your way back to port to get repairs. Of course, Peter Quill's 'improved' cleaning solution had taken out three of the ship's five engines. That meant no movement but at least life support and other amenities still functioned. At least Peter had waited till they were at their destination before leaving them drifting. The downside of that was there wasn't an inhabited, civilised planet anywhere close by. Not within the range of an M-ship at least.  

Yondu ground his teeth as he considered his options. Originally, he'd been planning on taking Quill down with him. It was a simple snatch-and-grab. Get the boy off the ship for a bit, let him shake some of that funk off, show him some of the finer points of thievery. That was before his Terren had tried to kill them all. Yondu ran a finger down the crusty white foam that had solidified around the engines. It was going to take days to clean off this crud before they could even make a start on repairs. More time and units lost and wasted because of Peter Quill. Yondu could already hear the mutinous mutterings the crew would start whispering from this.

"So um," said Quill, breaking through the mental mutterings Yondu was going through, "when're we heading out then? You promised I'd get to pilot this time. Er, y'know, get the practice in proper?"

"Ya think after this-" Yondu snarled, making a wide gesture to the ruined engines, "I'm gonna let you anywhere near my Warbird?" He stepped closer to Peter, who took a nervous step back. "You jus' earned yerself on ship restraint. You ain't settin' foot off this ship until you pay me back what its gonna cost to repair the damage."

"What?!" Peter exclaimed, his voice cracking as he did. The boy's expression shifted between anger, fear, anger again and misery before finally settling on furious. "What the hell, Yondu! How'm I meant to pay you back if I'm grounded? It's not fair!"

Yondu finally gave up on containing the whistle he had been itching to give when he'd seen the devastation. The yaka arrow responded immediately and flew through the air before settling just pricking Peter's nose. Peter froze stock still, his adam's apple bobbing as he gulped.

"Thought ye'd have learnt by now," hissed Yondu, "life ain't fair. Galaxy ain't fair and boy, you keep pushin' me I'm gonna show you just how unfair I'm feelin'." With a sneer, Yondu whistled the yaka back to its holster. "I better not be seein' you anywhere than here when I get back. Y'hear me?"

"Yes...captain," Peter said. His tone was more sulking than remorseful but Yondu had decided he had no more patience to deal with terren terrors and stalked out of the engine bay to prepare for the now solo job.

 

Taking the time to kit himself out properly for doing a solo, it took Yondu almost half the day cycle before he was prepped and ready to leave. He and Kraglin were the only ones in the M-ship hangar as Yondu did final checks. Dutiful as always, Kraglin stood by his side but the man's concern was rolling off him in waves.

"Y'sure you don't want me t' go with ya Cap'n?" he asked for what felt like the eighth time. Yondu resisted the urge to smack his head off the side of his M-ship. Or to smack Kraglin's head off it instead.

"I can manage a retrieval mission on my own, idjet,” he scoffs. “Pro’lly get it dun quicker without Quill there t’ slow me down.”

Kraglin gave a snort and smirked. Yondu returned the expression. Picking on Quill always brought his First Mate’s mood up. He knew full well Yondu’s reasons for keeping him - probably one of the few on the crew that did - but that did not mean he liked the little Terren’s presence. Especially after he got less little. Yondu clapped a hand on Kraglin’s shoulder.

“Keep the ship runnin’ for me. I’ll be back in a cycle or so an’ I expect the old girl t’ be here when I get back, ya hear?”

Loyally, Kraglin gave him a ravager salute. “Won’t let y’ down, cap’n,” he swore. Yondu flashed him a grin.

“See that ya don’t. An’ don’t steal my pillows whilst I’m gone neither.”

With a final grin and shoulder clasp, Yondu turned away from Kraglin and headed into his M-ship, The Warbird. Kraglin stood back as the hatch way ramp closed up and watched as Yondu fired up the sip and out of the hanger through the force field keeping the rest of the hanger pressurised. He watched until the ship was out of sight before turning to head to the bridge. Before he reached the door there was a ping from his com unit. He glanced down and rolled his eyes at the message.

_I wasn’t joking about the pillows, Obfenteri!_

Kraglin resolved to make himself the biggest pillow nest out of Yondu’s bed tonight and send him a picture. Had to remind Cap’n who gave the orders when it came to the bedroom after all. Besides, Yondu always stole his pillows first.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Damnit Quill!
> 
> Comments, Kudos and concerns always welcome. Check out the awesome art to go along with this fic by [The Infernal Whistler ](https://theinfernalwhistler.tumblr.com/post/168434449146/heya-this-is-for-the-kragdu-big-band-2017-its) and sheepsiesmunin!


	2. Flying Solo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kraglin keeps the ship running and mutinys to a minimum.  
> Yondu gets the treasure and runs into trouble.

On any given day, Kraglin had three favorite things: Captain Yondu, fucking with Quill and Soup. The order changed frequently depending on his mood and if the captain had done something particularly stupid that day. Right now, top of his favourites list was soup. He gently carried his bowl through the mess hall to an empty table, chanting 'soup soup soup' under his breath happily. Wasn't often that the Eclector kitchen's put soup on the menu. It may be a safe and easy staple but it cooled too fast to dish up to the crew regularly. And Crew got ornery if they had to eat stuff cold. Luckily, most of the crew were on downtime or on extra shift trying to repair the engines so good old cooky had put the vats on and made soup for those not on shift. He'd even offered Kraglin putting Quill in it whilst cap'n was off ship. He'd laughed back and joked that he wasn't going to let the terren ruin his favourite meal if he could help it - best save him for lunch tomorrow. They'd shared another laugh and Kraglin had been left to his happy soup worship. The mess hall was fairly empty but there were a couple of  crew huddled around one of the tables nearby. They paused in their chatter as he walked by, watching him warily. Kraglin ignored them and sat down with his soup. He began to noisily slurp it and very pointedly enjoying his meal. The group relaxed somewhat at seeing Kraglin so engrossed in his meal and went back to their mutterings. Kraglin took another long slurp of his soup and listened in. It was always amazing how the crew seemed to think you couldn't eat and do something else at the same time. Then again, given the intelligence of most of the crew maybe they couldn't.

"What ifs we just throw 'im in?" one muttered. "Says it were an accident."

"'Ow you gonna 'accidently' like open the engine grates enough t' shove the terren in?" another countered "'E's all legs 'n arms now."

"Shoulda gotten rid a 'im w'en 'e were still small. Coulda done it easy like," another muttered darkly.

"Cap'n's too soft."

"Nah, 'e was useful then! 'Member tha' time 'e got through all them ducts an' opened up that rich bitch's mansion fer us?"

There was a murmuring of reluctant agreements. Kraglin narrowed his eyes at his soup as he took another noisy slurp.

"Well," one of them said, "e' can't fit inna the ducts now. 'E ain't much use t' us now."

"Cap'n thinks 'es got quick fingers."

There was a muffled snort. "Not as good as summa us. I reckon cap'n jus' gotten too attached. Dunno 'ow t' let 'im go now 'e ain't useful. We'd be doin' 'im a service!"

There was another round of mumbled agreement. Kraglin had heard enough. He internally sighed. It was getting irksome trying to carefully steer the crew away from hurting Quill or outright killing him. He knew full well that if anyone hurt the Terren other than Yondu himself that they'd be whistled through faster than you could spit. He gave a loud burp and stood up, leaving his bowl on the table. The little huddle of Quill haters paused once more and glanced over to him.

"One a you lot go clean that up would'ya?" he said lazily, stretching as he headed to the door.

"Hey," one of them growled, "jus' cos yer First Mate don't mean ya get ta make us clean up after ya! We ain't yer cleaners."

Kraglin made a point of considering the rebuttal. "Well, we ain't got no one particular in charge a cleanin' up after you lot. 'Less you got someone else in mind, I'm startin' t' think ya could do it."

The man snarled and looked ready to draw his blaster when one of his brighter conspirators sudden grabbed him. The bright one had a massive grin on his face as he looked to KRaglin.

"Actually, First Mate Obfenteri," he said, "we was jus' discussin' jus that!"

"We was?" one of them said cluelessly. "I thoughts we were-" He shut up as one of hte others cottoned on and kicked him under the table. The one to stand up first looked ot his smiling companion and realisation slowly dawned. He grinned as well as he looked at Kraglin.

"Yessir, we was jus' all sayin' 'ow lil' Pete was always so good as a vent brush-" the others behind him chuckled, "-an' 'ow 'e knows this ship oh so well that 'ed prolly love t' help keep it aul ship shape an' such like. Weren't we lads?"

The other crewmen joined in with a chorus of agreement, some more convinced and less confused than others. Kraglin stroke his chin, hamming up considering the idea.

"Well, Cap'n's alway had Quill cleanin' his M-ship after missions. An' e's had Quill workin' on helpin' clean out the engines. Ain't see no reason why shouldn't jus extend that a lil bit." He grinned at the crew. "I'll be sure t' update his duty roster. I'm sure cap'n'd be willin' t' sign off on that when ‘e gets back.”

He gave a nod and left the mess hall. No doubt the idiots behind him were already congratulating each other on oh so successfully outwitting the First Mate and getting Quill to take all their cleaning chores. Kraglin snorted. First thing he was going to do was load the lot of them on waste cleanup for a solar week. And then dump all his cleaning duties onto Quill's roster and update his rank on the ship from Cabin boy to Janitor.

 

So far, he thought to himself, a good day.

 

\---

So far, it had been a good day, Yondu thought to himself.

 

Savbit-9 wasn’t exactly anyone first choice of holiday destination. Unless you were the sort of person that enjoyed vacationing on inhospitable dustballs with an atmosphere toxic to most organic life, unpredictable dust storms that played havoc with any electrical system and was located in the middle of an ion nebula that prevented any sort of long range communication. Not somewhere people willingly came to visit. However, that also meant that people were less willing to loot the place for its age old treasure which meant you could jack up the prices of going to retrieve those ancient bits of pottery or whatever. Yondu honestly didn't’ care about the supposed cultural and scientific significance of the cache he and his crew had been hired to retrieve. All he cared was about the sweet pile of units that would be waiting at the end.

 

He took the descent through the planet’s atmosphere gently. Flying on the planet would be tricky enough, there was no sense to be reckless. It was one of the reasons he had planned on letting Quill on this jaunt until the damn terran had damaged his ship. Quill could have got some good practice on atmo flights in hostile environments and since he’d have to pay close attention to what he was doing he’d actually have to focus for once. Ah well. It was a missed opportunity but there would be other deadly planets that would happily kill a M-ship in interesting ways for him to drag Quill to another time. Yondu glanced to the roughly printed map haphazardly taped to his dashboard. The interference from the electric dust storms meant that his onboard scanners and maps were useless. He had to find the location the old fashioned way of looking.

 

He was flying around for a few hours before he spotted a large cliff face with a jagged crack running down it. A quick glance at the map showed he was in the right place. With the new point of reference, Yondu headed straight for the target site. He brought the Warbird in to land on a flat platform of stone near the ruins. Centuries of erosion and the harsh desert conditions had removed much of the once ornate detailing of the place. Now it was simply lumps of stone in vague smoothed shapes. Yondu unstrapped himself from the pilot seat and grabbed his kit. He pulled on a set of gloves and a balaclava hood. The atmosphere wasn’t just filled with electric sand; the air was practically acidic. It wasn’t strong but it would burn like citric acid in a cut, except on every piece of exposed skin. Yondu may not be too fussed with his appearance but that didn't’ mean he wanted to have his skin literally start peeling off from exposure. Once almost all his skin was covered, he took out an ear piece mask. Clipping it in place, he activated it, letting the mask form across his face and seal him in. That done. He shouldered the silver crate he had brought with him for the loot and opened the M-ship’s cockpit hatch. There was a hiss as the breathable air escaped. He had better make this quick else his cockpit would start corroding from the acid air or the electric discharges from the sand would fuck up his controls.

With practised ease, Yondu hopped down and headed towards the only remaining structure that looked intact. According to the people that hired them, it was supposedly once some sort of temple or something. Temple meant treasure and precious religious artifacts. Stepping inside, the eerie red glow of his mask illuminated the inside. Sand that had been blown in across the decades was piled up against the walls and across the floor. A few stone blocks, probably once pillars lay broken across the floor. At the back of the temple, protected by crystal like glass were a series of ornate statuettes. Yondu trudged his way over to them. They looked more or less like twisted blobs of precious metal that had cooled in weird shapes. Honestly? They were so ugly Yondu wasn’t even tempted to keep one for his dashboard collection. Archaeologists and collectors had no taste., But their bad taste paid well. With only a slight amount of care, yondu put his gloved fist through the crystal protecting the relics. It shattered easily beneath his punch. Grinning to himself, he unloaded the crate from his shoulder and popped the lid. With much more care this time, Yondu retrieved each of the statuettes away carefully in the crate. He made sure to check each one over carefully before he put it away, letting the recording function of the mask record each one so that should the clients get arsey later about supposed damage he could shove the footage -and probably his arrow- in their faces.

 

He had locked the treasures away in the reinforced crate when he heard the unmistakable whine of a charging laser gun. Yondu threw himself to the side as the bolts of plasma shot past him and took out the back wall of the temple and several meters behind that. He turned his head to look out the doorway. An M-ship, stripped bare by the sandblasting winds so that its original markings were gone hovered near the entrance. He couldn't' see the pilot but they couldn't see him either it seemed. The swirling dust from the blast kept him hidden and the unknown assailant was clearly waiting for it to settle to see if he had gotten his target.

 

Rookie mistake.

 

Grabbing the crate, he darted through the slowly settling dust, making use of the fresh debris to provide him cover. As soon as he was close enough he bolted. Through the open door, keeping low. He skidded behind cover as the laser guns whined and fired again. Older model clearly. Powerful blast but needed to recharge after each shot. He sprinted again. His M-ship was right where he left it. He leapt the distance between the platform and the hood of the m-ship as another volley of plasma threatened to scorch his coat tails. The windscreen lowered the moment he threw himself into the cockpit. The crate of treasures was thrown carelessly to the side. They would be fine. Those crates were designed to carry sensitive explosives. It would take more than a few knocks to damage the contents. Yondu threw himself into the pilot's seat and gunned the throttle. The engines roared into life.

The enemy ship fired again. Yondu's M-ship rocked with the blasts. Snarling behind the respirator mask - he couldn't waste time deactivating it - he grasped the control rig and sent his ship into a tight banking curve. Then he floored it. The War bird burst forward, leaving a large dust cloud in its wake. The enemy M-ship turned and gave chase. The electronic interference was still playing havoc with Yondu's onboard equipment. He had no way to track the enemy ship. No way to see if it had locked onto him or not. He couldn't risk attempting to break atmo with it on his tail. He would be an easy target. As good a pilot as he was, he wasn't going to risk himself or the cargo trying to save himself from that sort of crash. His grip on the steering controls tightened. He twisted the M-ship in a tight turn, banking to the side and sending itself back on itself.

The War Bird was built for this sort of tight maneuvers. It was one of hte few things he had kept from Stakar. His M-ship was as responsive as his yaka arrow and just as nimble. The enemy M-ship was nowhere near as dexterous. Yondu grinned as his ship darted directly under his pursuer, just missing the laser fire. He floored the engine, aiming for the break in the cliffs he had seen on his way over. He had a plan. He was far more nimble and could make the tight turn the cliff breaks created. His enemy wasn't. All he had to do was thread that needle and then power down and wait for whoever this was to give up and leave. Then he could head back to the ship with no issue. The cliff was rapidly approaching. Yondu kept a firm grip on the controls as he aimed for the gap.

 

The War Bird gave a sudden violent shudder as something clipped one of the wings. Warning lights began to flash on the console, a glaring flashing red. The ship shuddered. Grimly, Yondu wrestled with the controls. The bastard had clearly turned around and started firing. It was fine though. He just had to make it to the gap in the cliffs and he would be safe. Even if he could just make it to the ground safely, he could play dead till they left.

Another blast hit the side of the ship and sent it into a deadly spiral. The other M-ship hovered in the air as it watched the ravager's M-ship spiral down before crashing at the base of the cliff side. It waited a few minutes before gunning the engines and heading for atmo, leaving its fallen prey to the sands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is why you should always have backup!
> 
> Kudos, comments and concerns welcome!


	3. Alone time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Captain returns, no loot and no interest in Kraglin. Kraglin starts to doubt himself.

Ever diligent in his duties, Kraglin was waiting in the hanger as Yondu’s ship returned. His brow furrowed at the state it was in as the M-ship limped its way into the hanger. The paintwork was scratched and blasted by sand and acidic corrosion. One of the engines looked as if it had been shot out and more battle scars marred the rest of the m-ship’s hull. He mentally took note of the various repairs that would need  to be done. He knew how much the M-ship meant to Yondu, even if the captain would never say so out loud. He didn’t do sentiment after all. Kraglin stood to attention as the M-ship landed and was locked into place in the hanger.  The lower ramp descended and with the tramp of boots and snap of his leather coat, Yondu disembarked. His usual scowl was firmly in place but Kraglin couldn’t help notice a rather large something was lacking.

“Erum,” Kraglin began, frowning, “Cap’n, where’s the loot?”

Yondu pushed past him without a backwards glance. “Got broke w’en I got shot at,” came the reply. Kraglin turned and hurried to catch up with his captain. 

“Ya got ambushed?” he asked dumbly. He added another note to his mental list to look more closely at their clients.

“Some fucker waitin’ fer whoever showed up I reckon,” Yondu groused. Even with his smaller stride, Kraglin was forced to occasionally jog to keep up with the brisk pace he was setting. Not a good sign. It wasn’t the first time they had lost a cargo shipment since their exile but each time they failed a job, it meant another black mark against their already sooty name It meant losing another source of units. It meant another dent on Yondu’s self esteem. He took each failed job as a reminder of how much of a failure he had become since Stakar had cast them out. Yondu thought he kept it quiet, but Kraglin saw the effect it had. This looked like it was going to be a particularly bad one too. They walked on in silence as Yondu led them to the command deck. The few crew there saluted Yondu but he ignored them. Kraglin swallowed. Yep, this was really going to be a bad one. The rest of the crew seemed to pick up on the tense mood as well. One shuffled uncomfortably and another began to chew his lip. Yondu stared around, hands on his hips in such a way that his coat was pulled back and showing off the arrow.

“I wan’ a course charted outta here t’ Know’ere, quickest we can. Ain’t gonna waste any more fuel than we already have this venture.”

The bridge crew all exchanged worried glances between them. No one spoke or moved. Kraglin decided to step in before the Cap’n got tempted to whistle folks.

“We can’t sir,” Kraglin said diplomatically. He stood a little straighter as Yondu rounded on him. “Engines ain’t fixed yet. Reckonin’ it’s gonna take least another few cycles ‘fore we can even try limpin’ t’ a jump sir.”

Yondu blinked at him in confusion. The expression then morphed into a growl. 

“I want it a priority. Longer we’re here, longer we gonna lose out on payin’ work. Longer we’re gonna be lettin’ the fuckers tha’ set us up get away with it.”

That last part earned a rumble of contempt from the bridge crew. None of them liked losing out on units, but they really hated someone setting them up and getting away with it. There was a chorus of “Aye cap’n” and “Aye, sir” from the crew. Giving a grunt of acknowledgement, Yondu whipped around again and headed off once more. Kraglin lagged back to have a quiet word with the bridge crew. The last thing he and Yondu needed right now was for a game of Shi’ar whispers to start up about the lack of loot and forthcoming payday. The busted engines already had the crew in a foul mood. This could be very possibly a tipping point towards an attempted mutiny if it wasn’t handled just right. But that was why Kraglin was Yondu’s First Mate. He had the quiet people skills that his blustering and boisterous captain was lacking in. Once he was sure that the Bridge Crew would keep quiet until he and the captain announced this official like, Kraglin turned and jogged in the direction Yondu had gone. If he knew his captain - and he prided himself on knowing more about Yondu Udonta than anyone else - he would have headed to his cabin where he could rage in private.

The corridor where the Captain’s cabin was located was deserted but that was to be expected. The only cabins in this corridor was the Captain’s, Kraglin’s - though really if he was honest, it was just for storing the stuff that wouldn’t fit in Yondu’s - and the primary coms relay. Used to be the Quartermaster had a cabin here too but Tullk had made it clear that he prefered his nest down in stores. Then it used to be Quill’s until the terren brat started mouthing off once too often. Now he was bunking with the crew until he earned his private cabin privileges back. Given his latest fiasco, well, it didn't look like Quill would be getting his own cabin for a good long time yet. Maybe he could persuade Yondu they should spend the night there, have  bit of fun. Would serve the Terren brat right. Would make up for the amount of times said brat had interrupted him and captain with some nonsense or other. It was the sort of plan that may help sooth Yondu’s mood. 

 

Kraglin was so caught up in his revenge planning that he didn’t realise the captain’s door was shut until he bodily walked into it.

The bony man bounced off the vacuum locked door and fell in an undignified heap on the floor. It took him a few seconds to realise that the door hadn’t registered his presence and opened automatically like it shoulda. It was a nifty little system Yondu had gotten installed. The captain’s cabin had a conventional biolock handprint panel and passcode panel but it also had a very sophisticated sensor lock. It was designed to pick up a specific resonant signal and unlock and open the door. Captain had gotten it set to the specific resonant radiation given off by yaka. That meant you had to have yaka on you to open the door. And given the rarity and the centurian affinity with the ore, no one that Yondu didn’t like had accesses to it. Kraglin’s yaka was a broken arrowhead that he kept on a string around his neck. Even the brat had a piece, though Quill had no idea the significance of the ‘lucky stone’ captain had given him on his first mission. What Peter didn't know he couldn’t accidently blab to the crew. Sometimes that primitive terran superstitious nature came in handy. That didn't explain however why it hadn’t worked now. Kraglin did a quick check to make sure his yaka pendant was still in place. Yep, right there on its loose string so it hung in the middle of his chest with absolutely no significance whatsoever. He looked at the door frame where the sensor was located. Maybe the thing was on the fritz. Yeah, that was most likely. It was a fair fancy piece of kit and on something like the Eclector, the fancier and more expensive the thing, the more likely it was to crap out on you. In all honesty, Kraglin was amazed the damn thing had lasted this long. Standing up and rubbing his bruised behind, the first mate put his hand on the bioscanner. Maybe he was lucky and the thing had only just broken. Else he was going to have an even more irate and self deprecating Yondu to deal with. 

The bioscanner clunked and shone red. He frowned. He pulled his hand back and tried again. 

_ Clunk _ . Red light.

He tried his other hand.

_ Clunk _ . Red light.

He tried hitting the scanner and trying with his right hand again.

_ Clunk _ . Red light.

Kraglin ran a hand through his scruffy mohawk. The scanner was busted. Maybe the sensor had broken on Yondu after all and captain in his rage had hit the scanner too hard. It wouldn't be the first time. Squatting on his haunches so that he was at eye level with the bio scanner, Kraglin pried the casing from the wall. Bio scanners were fairly easy to fix. Usually it was just a bug in the coding you could smooth out on your own datapad or a loose wire you could tuck back into place. He’d had to patch a scanner at least once a solar week. It was just standard living these days. Kraglin pulled out his datapad to be an improvised light source as he checked the wiring of the scanner. There! A bundle of the wires were snapped. It didn’t look like a stress break or wear and tear. Something had cut them. Kraglin sighed and replaced the cover of the scanner. Yet another scanner that had been chewed to pieces by an orloni. The damn vermin would get into anything and seemed to love to chew wires. They’d also managed to breed out the ones that were vulnerable to the electric shocks from chewing wires. Looked like ‘pest control’ was getting added to Quill’s job list.

Standing up straight, Kraglin rolled his shoulders and went to put in the access code. Then he stopped. He glanced up at the sensor and then to the scanner. What if it weren’t just stuff breaking and orloni pests? Captain kept a lot of locks on his door for a reason. He also trusted Kraglin as one the only person with the code for the door. Not even Quill had that. If Captain had the biolock off, he wanted to be left alone from the officers. If he had the sensor off then he wanted to be alone from Quill… but did that mean he also wanted to be alone from Kraglin? He worried the inside of his cheeks as his hand hovered over the keypad. He could input the code and that would tell him for sure if Captain was locking out just the world itself or Kraglin too. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know the answer to that one. Maybe… maybe he’d just let the captain cool down a bit on his own. Kraglin nodded to himself as he made his way slowly back down the corridor and away from the door. 

He was just giving the captain some space to compose himself, that was all. This was a really bad break and it would probably take Captain some time to get himself in such a state that he could present himself to the crew. In the meantime, Kraglin would keep things running. Make things as smooth as possible for Yondu to slip back in. Captain just needed some space till then.

 

Kraglin tried to ignore the twisting feeling in his chest at the idea that even after everything -  after everything Kraglin had seen, after everything he had done for Yondu and everything  they had shared - that Captain Udonta might want space from him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Kraglin. He worries so much for and about his captain.
> 
> Comments, kudos and concerns always welcome!


	4. Can it get worse?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kraglin worries and suspicions grow.  
> Meanwhile, Yondu tries to survive and call for help.

Yondu was still absent the next cycle. Kraglin kept things running. He’d made the announcement to the crew that the client had stiffed them, sent an ambush to gun them down as soon as they had the cargo. He’d made the promise to the crew that they’d be making the client pay for trying to double cross them which had been met with raucous approval. But he had still noticed how a fair few growled and grumbled at the lack of a pay day. He’d seen how Taserface and his posse had started trying to throw their weight around, see how far they could push their limits and how much the rest of the crew would let them, especially with the captain not there. Yet Kraglin kept the Eclector running and the mutinies at bay. He had tried the door of Yondu’s cabin again when he took a break for lunch. The sensor was still offline and the bioscanner was still deliberately broken. He still couldn’t bring himself to use the door key code however. Kraglin wrestled with himself all the way down to the mess hall. He barely paid attention to the slop that was unceremoniously plopped on his tray. He walked mechanically to his usual table in the far corner and halfheartedly spooned the slop into his mouth. He couldn't even taste it, which on most days he would consider a blessing for lunch slop. 

What if the Captain needed him? What if Yondu was curled up in his cabin, lost in his own brain and self loathing and was hoping that Kraglin would come in. Yondu was always too proud to call for help. But that didn't’ mean he didn't’ need it, didn’t crave it. Kraglin knew that this was a bad breakdown but it was always a fifty fifty chance if Yondu wanted and accepted Kraglin’s presence or if Kraglin had to flee with an arrow on his tail. But Yondu had never turned of the sensor before, nor break the bioscanner together. Never at the same time.

Kraglin was pulled out of his downward mental spiral at the sound of a tray clattering down onto the table beside him and the grunt of a body sitting beside him on the bench. He blinked and looked into the tattooed face of Tullk. There was something about the pensive expression the man was wearing that sat wrong with Kraglin. That and Tullk had always prefered to sit with the main crew. Something about letting the crew see him as one of them rather than as one of the officers. It certainly had merit. He was usually able to steer any impressionable crewmates away from the more mutinous ones. Not to mention he had been able to pass along what rumours were circling in the lower decks.

“Somethin’ on ya mind?” Kraglin asked. He took another spoonful of slop and regretted it. Now he was paying attention, the stuff tasted like mulched rotten leaves with a sprinkling of lice. Ignoring Kraglin’s gagging, Tullk shrugged.

“Dunno. Migh’ beh. Migh’ jus’ beh nothin’ thou.”

Now Kraglin was frowning. “Ya know same as me ain’t never nothin’.”

“It ain’t Yondu’s ship.”

Kraglin blinked. Of all the things he was expecting Tullk to reveal - engineering won’t be able to fix the engines, Quill had done something, Taserface was going to try and push yet another person to declare mutiny - this wasn’t even on the list.

“Ya come again?” Kraglin said, dumbfounded.

“It ain’t Yondu’s M-ship in the hanger,” Tullk repeated. He turned his head to face Kraglin. His expression was thunderous with barely contained anger. Kraglin was amazed at how calm the older ravager had managed to keep his voice. “I’ve ken’d Yondu since ‘e first wore the Flames. I were there wen ‘e got the ship. I ken tha’ ship ‘bout as well as I ken m’own. An’ that ain’t it.”

“Ya sure?” Kraglin said, “we been through a lot. Had t’ get it repaired a lot.”

Tullk shook his head. “I ken what I do, Krags. Tha’ ain’t Yondu’s ship, an Yondu wouldn’t ever change ship. But then...yer right. I ain’t ben keepin’ up wit wha’ repairs ha’ ben done lately.”

The First mate rubbed a hand over his mouth. He pushed his food tray away, his appetite gone. Tullk was right; Yondu would never change the Warbird. He had a thing about change, especially change involving him and his things. And next to Kraglin himself, Tullk probably knew Yondu the best. They had been close friends under Stakar. It had come as a surprise when Yondu promoted Kraglin to First Mate and not Tullk.

“Thanks Tullk,” Kraglin murmured, “I’ll take a look. Second opinion an’ all.” He pushed back the bench and stood up. Tullk nodded and pulled his tray and Kraglin’s abandoned lunch towards him. Maybe it was nothing, it was always a possibility. But there was no harm in checking. 

 

The twisting knot in his chest tightened further.

 

\-----

 

The first thing he was aware of was the incessant, piercing whine. It felt as if someone was jabbing shards of crystal right into his skull before sadistically flicking it to make it ring. 

Next to hit him was the smell. The smell of dry dust and ozone and singed flesh and leather. Then came the prickling on his exposed skin on his neck and hands. Not the prickling of ‘something is stuck in my flesh that shouldn’t be there’, and more like ‘my skin feels like it is slowly melting and burning and wants me to get out of here’ sort of feeling. All he could taste was the own tang of his blood and that just left one sense left to try and work out what the hell was going on. 

Slowly, Yondu opened his eyes.

That one action seemed to indicate to his body that it needed to deliver all the pain he was in at once. The sheer weight of the sudden rush of agony made him feel nauseous and threatened to make him pass out again. Steadying himself, he ntoiced he still had his mask up. He was about to reach up a sluggish hand to deactivate it when he saw the shards of his front windscreen. He blinked, following the shards of reinforced plastic up to the shattered front of his M-ship. It took his brain a few moments to backtrack and work out what had happened. The frantic dive back into the Warbird when the unknown ship opened fire on him. The chase through the ruins trying to shake them off his tail. Attempting to lose them in the crags. A lucky shot catching his wing and putting him a spiral. The stone cliffside he was hurtling towards as he fought to regain control.

Looked like the cliff had won then.

Yondu silently cursed as he sluggishly unbuckled the harness holding him in place. He didn't’ remember putting it on but it was probably the reason he was still in the remains of the cockpit and not plastered as a thin blue vineere on the cliffside. Guess muscle memory and forced habit drilled into him by an overbearing Stakar had something to do with it. Wonder what the old Starhawk would have thought of him-

No. Focus, he was getting distracted.

First priority: get into a space of breathable air and assess damage.

No wait, scratch that. First priority: send signal for rescue. Then get somewhere safe to assess damage.

There was only one slight flaw with that plan and that was the flarking electromagnetic dust that fucked with electronics and would also mess with any distress signal he tried to send. Even if he decided to skip that step and move onto getting somewhere secure he couldn’t. As soon as the atmospheric breach was detected, his M-ship was designed to lock off the cockpit to preserve the rest of the ship. A useful design but it meant that the door between him and the rest of the M-ship was deadlocked. It wouldn’t release until the atmospheric difference was balanced. So he would have to go outside and around to the airlock hatch. Coincidently, if he wanted to try and boost the signal of his com unit to try and get past the electronic disturbance, he would have to go outside and mess with the wiring and antenna.

In short, he needed to go outside into the toxic acid air with the wind picking up in the prelude to what was probably a sandstorm. 

Because the galaxy had decided that today it fucking hated Yondu Udonta apparently.

 

Agonisingly slowly, Yondu clambered over the control console and out of the broken windshield. The shards cut into his knees and his hands and he managed to rip the balaclava squeezing through the broken plastic. The rips in his clothes and protection caused a noticeable spike in the prickling pain from the air touching him. He needed to get this done fast before it got worse. Steadying himself briefly. He began to climb up and over the hull of his M-ship towards the panel where the com unit relay antenna was located. The going was tricky. The air had condensed on the ship’s hull to form a film of acid that ate away at him wherever it touched. It also made the usually easily climbable surface slippery. 

His foot lost its traction. In a panic, Yondu reached out to grab something, anything to keep steady.He fell hard against the hull of the ship. Then slipped. In his struggle to prevent gravity Yondu accelerated his momentum. He barely had a chance to curse before he tumbled away from the M-ship and hit the ground. He had tried to twist his body so that he did not land implant first - he had done that only once before and he had vowed then never to repeat the experience. So whilst he managed to avoid smashing open his implanted crest, he couldn’t fully land safely. Spots crossed his vision as his head smacked off a rock and warning notices flashed across the HUD of the mask. Once more he pushed himself up and started to climb the outside of the ship. Once again, the film of acid caused him to slip and tumble to the ground. Now snarling, Yondu ripped off the tattered gloves and tried once more. With the added dexterity and mobility of his naked hands, this time, he kept his grip. His head was swimming by the time he reached the antenna array panel. His hands were numb and leaving tracks of dark blood as he wrenched open the panel. Angling his body to provide as much cover from the dust and wind as he could, Yondu carefully rerouted the system and power. Hopefully the increased juice and capacitors would allow the coms unit signal to breach the atmosphere. For all the trouble it had taken him, the work took almost less than a minute to do. Ignoring ht shake in his hands, he resealed the panel and carefully - half climbing, half sliding - made his way down the hull towards the emergency hatch. With a few key jabs the hatch opened and Yondu practically tumbled inside. The hatch sealed and Yondu cycled the airlock. He didn't’ even wait for the full compression air cycle to complete before raising a hand to turn off the mask. Then he sat there at the bottom of the airlock, taking deep lungfuls of fresh-er air that wasn’t recycled from his own breath. The melodious chime to signal full recompression finally persuaded to get off the floor and open the inner door. He still needed to re-route the internal coms system to facilitate an outgoing transmission. He also needed to make sure he wasn’t going to get either is blood or any residual acid all over the delicate electronics.

Staggering through, Yondu made a beeline for the limited washstation on the M-ship. He shrugged off his coat and let it fall to the floor as he stuck his hands under the nearest faucet. The autodetection beeped and activated a spray of water onto his hands. Yondu hissed in pain as the water gently washed acid into broken skin and then the combined acid and bloody mixture washed out again under the steady stream. He stayed until the worst of the stinging stopped leaving behind only a dull throbbing ache. It would do. He removed his hands and the water turned off automatically. Grabbing a clean-ish towel, Yondu dried his hands as he walked over to the internal coms unit. Tossing aside the rag, he pried open the control panel. Ignoring the pain from his hands, ignoring the steady warning ache coming from his head, Yondu connected up the last few wires of the re-rigged coms unit. He just had to hope that his efforts outside gave the unit the extra power it needed to broadcast past the ion dust storm surrounding the planet up to the Eclector. With shaking hands, he flipped the emergency broadcast beacon. A light blinked on, slowly pulsing to indicate that the broadcast was active. Yondu slumped back against the cot in the wall. There was nothing left for him to do now except wait and hope that someone-

_ "Cap'n? Cap'n come in!" _

Yondu started forward and a wide grin forming as he grabbed the mic. "Kraglin, didn't think ya'd be pickin' up this soon."

There was a chuckle through the static on the mic. It wasn't great quality but it was a damn better than Yondu had been expecting.

_ "You know me better'n that, Cap'n," _ came Kraglin's crackled reply.  _ "'S good t' hear ya again." _

"Weren't even gone a full cycle," scoffed Yondu, leaning back with the mic. He was glad there was no video feed to show his first mate the dopey grin Yondu was currently wearing. He was loath to admit that he had missed Kraggle's voice just as much. He weren't soft, damnit!"

_ "Never said ya were cap'n," _ Kraglin said in an amused tone.

Yondu blinked. He hadn't realised he had spoken his thoughts out loud. Gingerly he touched the aching side of his head and hissed at the contact. He pulled his hand away and saw his own dark blood slicked on his fingers.

"Yeah, well looks like took a knock when the Warbird got rundown," he said out loud, still staring at his fingers. "Might wanna hurry up that rescue craft an' put a med kit on it."

_ "Don't worry, y'know I'll always patch you up." _

Yondu frowned. Was it the head wound or was kraggle's voice sounding clearer. His patch job wasn't that good was it? 

"Think may've knocked m' head bit moren' I thought," he mused to the mic. "Yer's actually sounding' clear fer once."

There was another peal of laughter and something twisted in Yondu's gut. Like him, Kraglin had an image to maintain to the crew - his fierce first mate, quick with knife and fang should anything threaten ship or captain. It was an image that did not' allow itself to raucous laughter unless booze was involved or in private. 

"You drunk on duty, Obfonteri?" Yondu asked, eyes narrowed.

_ "Course not, never when m' on duty," _ came the reply, _ "jus' happy t' hear ya alive, love." _

The twisting in Yondu's gut turned into a full on black hole. He froze, the mic clutched in a white knuckle grip and his eyes wide. Kraggle's had to be on something. He had to be. He would never blurt out something like that on an open coms where crew could hear. He would never say anything like that outside of the bedroom or Yondu's own imagination-

With sinking dread, Yondu raised his eyes to the com relay unit. To the still slowly pulsing light that said his emergency beacon was still broadcasting but had not yet been picked up. The pounding in his head now seemed to focus itself around his implant and the back of his skull, curling around his ears. He slowly put down the mic on the relay and sat heavily on the cot in the wall. He then clapped his hands hard over his ears, as if he could drive out the sounds that weren't there.

_ "Cap'n?" _ came Kraglin's voice, still loud and clear according to his brain and sounding worried.  _ "Cap'n c'mon, talk t' me. Are y' alright?" _

Alone on his warbird with the phantom voice of his first mate, Yondu felt some of his internal walls crumble slightly as he mumbled, "No...m'not."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, at least Yondu has someone to talk to....
> 
> Comments, Kudos and concerns always welcome


	5. I know you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Whilst Yondu tries to survive, Kraglin gathers loyal crew to help rescue their real captain and deal with the 'Yondu' on their ship.

Tullk had been right.

It wasn’t Yondu’s M-ship.

 

Kraglin had shooed away the crew that had been assigned to repair the busted up ship with the excuse of the Captain wanted stuff done a particular way. It wasn’t a lie really; Yondu tended to get ratty if anyone but a select few worked on his ship and the crew were thankful that they could claim plausible deniability if something wasn’t to the Captain’s liking. 

The first blaring clue was the lack of trinkets. Any space Yondu claimed as his own was filled with random knick knacks and baubles on every available surface. It was a trait Kraglin found both endearing and downright infuriating if he was honest. He could never sit down or place anything in Yondu’s cabin without having to first evict at least twelve trinkets to make space. Of course doing so would then result in Yondu berating him for messing up his apparent organizing system which made sense only to him. His M-ship probably had the second worst horde of trinkets and to see the ship bereft of small kitschy baubles was actually rather unsettling.

The second clue was the layout. It was a standard run of the line M-ship. It was missing all those little features that set it apart from the other M-ships in the Elector's fleet. Not just basic stuff, like where the galley was located in relation to the washrooms, but little things that gave it character. The gouges in the wall from where he and Yondu had a friendly knife throwing contest. The stains on the pilot seat from one of their earliest ‘solo’ missions. The worn edges of the control sticks from years of use and the worn buttons on the console from hundreds of flights. Those little hints of a life lived and ship that had seen it all. They were all missing. 

Third, and perhaps the most damning evidence of all was the log record. Reams of com logs to a unit number that was unknown to Kraglin, a typing style that was definitely not Yondu’s and a contract, laid out in blinking light on the screen. A contract for the removal of Yondu Udonta and the reclamation of the Elector ship. The unit count on the screen was a hefty one, a combination of at least one of the bounties on Yondu’s head as well as a sale price for his galleon. That was why the impostor had been so keen for them to get out of the system so quickly. Kraglin didn’t bother to hide his rage as he bore his teeth in a snarl. They had let an impostor on board - he had let an impostor in! - and the Captain was still down there. Yondu was tough. He wouldn’t go down without a fight and a diagnostic showed that the impostor ship was only equipped with clunky laser bank cannons. It would be hard for something with that low fire rate to get more than a few lucky shots in. Which meant that it was likely they had just knocked out Yondu’s ship before heading back to impersonate him, leaving him to die on the planet. 

He refused to think of the alternative.

Without a word, Kraglin stood and wrenched out the black box of the M-ship before stuffing it roughly down the front of his jumpsuit. The baggy material hid the small storage device. That done he sent out a com hail to a few select crewmembers on his private frequence. Then, he slouched off out of the hanger. With his murderous expression, the few crewmember he ran into in the ship’s winding corridors gave him a very large berth.

No one wanted to get in the way when Kraglin was on the warpath.

 

A few hours later, three crewmembers made there way nonchalantly to one of the lower storerooms. It wasn’t used for much really. The illegal still that everyone knew about was located there. Emergency light packs and hard weather gear was also stashed away there. Generally items that were never needed often but were still essential kit. As Horuz, Tullk and Peter made there way to the storeroom, each wondered why Kraglin had asked to meet them in such an out of the way location. Each grew more confused or concerned when they saw who else had been invited along to the clandestine meeting.

“Ya better have a good reason t’ drag us all down here, Kraglin,” Horuz growled, grabbing a nearby crate and pushing it forward to be an improvised seat. Tullk and Peter exchanged a glance before dragging over crates of their own to sit on. Kraglin remained standing, his fingers nervously drumming the casing of an M-ship black box recorder. He finally looked up at the three, his expression dark and murderous.

“It ain’t the cap’n,” he said thickly. Horuz frowned further as Tullk gave a string of curses. Peter looked utterly perplexed.

“Wait, what’s not the captain?” he asked cluelessly. Kraglin rolled his eyes before rounding on Quill.

“Th’ fucker tha’ came aboard lookin’ like ‘im an’ actin’ like ‘im. But it ain’t ‘im. It ain’t his M-ship an’ ‘es trashed th’ security on th’ cap’n’s cabin an’ ain’t come out since.”

Peter rubbed the back of his neck. “You sure he isn’t y’know, just moping that the job went bad?” Horuz beat Kraglin to smacking Quill on the back of his head.

“Job goin’ bad’s the worst time fer cap’n t’ be missin’, brat,” he growled. He looked back to Kraglin. “Why’re we still here an’ not breakin; down the door an’ gettin’ the fucker?”

“‘Cos rest ‘a the crew don’t know yet,” the first mate replied. His words still came out in a thick garbel and the three co-conspirators now saw why. Kraglin’s extra rows of teeth were down. It took a great deal to piss off the Hyraxian to the point where he couldn’t keep his vicious fangs sheathed. Peter was the only one to edge his crate away from Kraglin though. The three older crewmates all looked at the teenager as his crate squeaked across the floor. Kraglin pinched the bridge of his nose. “Look, crew finds out cap’n ain’t here an’ we got a imposter, there’s gonna be a mutiny. We’re gonna lose crew wa ain’t able t’ replace out here.”

“Sa wha’s the plan then?” Tullk asked. He nodded to the black box Kraglin was holding. “Tha’ got summit t’ de wit it?”

“Sorta,” Kraglin said. He tossed the box to Horuz who easily caught it. “Th’ com logs on there talkin’ t’ a buyer, some’un willin’ t’ pay a lota units fer makin’ cap’n disappear an’ then handin’ over the Elector.”

“Why would anyone want a bucket of junk like this?” Peter asked. Tullk supplied the head smack this time.

“Dun ya talk ill a th’ ship, lad,” the white haired man growled. “Sumday ye’ll be wishin’ fer her t’ be at yer back.”

“We need t’ know who set us up an’ how they knew ‘bout this,” Kraglin interrupted, looking at Horuz. The larger man grunted, turning the black box over in his hands.

“Easy enough,” Horuz grunted. Kraglin gave him a nod.

“Get on it. Best ya get back t’ the Bridge anyways. Don’t want folks gettin’ suspicious.” 

Horuz merely snorted his amusement at the idea. He pushed himself up and without any further word or gesture headed out of the store room, the black box neatly hidden away in a deep pocket.

“What about us?” Peter asked. Kraglin, now he no longer had the black box to fidget with, folded his arms.

“We need t’find the cap’n an’ we need t’ make sure this bastard ain’t tampered with anythin’,” he replied.

“If Yondu’s still doon on tha’ dustball,” Tullk added, “he’ll have ta find a way a’ get a mayday signal up ta us. Could be reason we ain’t recieved it yet.”

“He’ll find a way t’, we jus’ need t’ look for it,” Kraglin replied fiercely. He looked over at Peter. “You get t’ the hanger. Be easy excuse t’ say yer on repair duty. Then ya can use one a the M-ship’s scanners t’ locate Yondu’s beacon. Tullk, ya know the Elector best, ya make sure we ain’t been sabotaged.”

Peter huffed, clearly less than enamoured by the unglamorous task. Kraglin could see the boy getting ready to complain, to say he should get Tullk’s more exciting job. He walked closer and crouched in front of the teenager. “Peter,” he said, his tone grim and serious, “everythin’ we do ain’t gonna mean shit if we don’t find the cap’n. He ain’t got the supplies in his M-ship t’ last him more’n a cycle. We ain’t got a clue if he’s hurt or not. Ya don’t find his signal, he’s as good as dead.”

The terren boy blinked at Kraglin’s fierce honesty. He was the first to break the stare off between them.

“What if he already is?” Peter murmured. “What if I don't’ find anything?”

Kraglin stood up wordlessly. He glanced at Tullk and the man shared his gim look. If Yondu was dead, there would be chaos as every man was for himself. Kraglin had made a promise to Yondu though and it was one he bitterly hated: if anything happened to Yondu, Kraglin was to take Peter and hide him away. Make sure Ego or anyone else would never find him. He hated that he had made that promise, but he would do it if he had to. He had given his word. He couldn’t give up now though, not when there was even the slimmest hope that the blue bastard was still alive.

“He’s alive,” was all Kraglin said. “You jus’ find his signal, Quill.”

“Wait!” Peter called after him, “What about you? What’er you gonna do?”

The first mate paused at the door of the storage bay. A mirthless smile tweaked the corner of his mouth. 

“I’m gonna make that bastard tha’s pretendin’ t’ be my cap’n pay.”

 

\----

Kraglin stood in front of the captain's cabin. Only one small key combination kept him from entering. Before, he had been hesitant to enter it, worried of breaking the trust between him and Yondu. Now, he entered the code easily. It wasn't a long or particularly complex code. Really, there were only three code combinations Yondu tended to use.

The date he was freed from his chains and taken in by Stakar.

The date the Udonta clan was exiled.

The date Kraglin had told Yondu he was his.

It was that last date that Kraglin entered. The keypad lit up with a faint  _ ping  _ and the seals on the door released. Not wasting a moment, Kraglin pushed open the door.

Inside, the captain's cabin was as he remembered it - a complete mess. But there was a disorganisation to the usually organised chaos. Almost as if someone had tried to search the room and upon finding themselves unsuccessful decided to trash the place in retaliation. A shelf of trinkets had been knocked off the wall, its precious cargo scattered across the floor and lost in the piles of grubby leather. Kraglin let his eyes scan the area with a predator's intent whilst appearing to lazily lean against the door, shutting it. It took only took a well practised flick of his fingers to set the lock on the door again. The  _ ping  _ of the lock alerted the room's only other occupant.

Impostor Yondu looked up in surprise, dropping the datapad he had been pawing over. Kraglin maintained his dopey smile and lazy demeanour.

"What'er ya doin' in here?" Not-Yondu snapped. His ruby eyes glanced from Kraglin to the door, clearly wondering how he managed to get in.

"C'mon cap'n," Kraglin said in a sultry drawl, "ain't seen ya in more'n a cycle."

"Ship c'n run jus' fine without me havin' t' breath down their necks," the false Yondu groused. He reached back for the datapad. "When'er those repairs gonna be done?"

"Oh soon sir," Kraglin drawled, slowly making his way from the door over to the desk the yondu doppleganger was sat at. "But jus' cos the crew can keep runnin' without ya, I ain't so low maintenance, lovey."

He noticed the way the false Yondu stiffened. The real Yondu would have batted him away and grumbled something about sentiment before tweaking Kraglin's nose and then proceeding to shove him onto the bed. This yondu though, he was caught off guard. Kraglin kept up the pretence. "Ya alright, love? Ya gone awful quiet, ain't like ya." 

The not-yondu spent another few seconds processing before turning with a lazy smile, clearly the picture of doting affection.

"Ain't nothin', love," he purred. "Jus' got m'head all wrapped up in new jobs, y'know how it is."

Kraglin feigned a pout, channeling the indignance and stroppiness he had to deal with from Quill. At least the boy was good for inspiration even if he couldn't' fit in vents no more.

"Ya always keep gettin' distracted by heist plannin'," he whined. He gently spun the desk chair to face him. Not Yondu let him, slouching like a patron at a strip join waiting for his lap dance. Kraglin was going to make him regret the decision.

"Aw, don't ya pout, ya'll ruin yer pretty lil' face," he crooned before tugging Kraglin onto his lap. Kraglin straddled him easily. If it had been any other day, he would have enjoyed this sort of attention from Yondu. Now though, it felt like a deep perversion of what he and his captain shared.  "Why don't you tell yer Cap'n what ya want, eh?" Not-yondu said with a wicked grin.

Kraglin made a play of thinking it over for a moment. "How's 'bout  kiss?" he asked demurely. The Yondu in front of him chuckled dirtily. Another mark against him. Yondu was never fond of the helpless or dainty act.

"Come’re sugar," the pretender growled as he grabbed the back of Kraglin's head and pulled him down to his lips. He kissed him deeply and Kraglin couldn’t help but return the gesture with passion. It was something he longed to do and yet Yondu was firmly against the notion. He would never allow a frenzied make out session with such casual ease. It was the sort of thing that only happened in his fantasies. If he was a lesser man, Kraglin might have taken advantage of the situation, live out the fantasies he could only wish of with his beloved captain.

Instead, all it did was cement just how wrong the entire scenario was.

With practised skill, not breaking the deep kiss for even a moment, Kraglin let the knife slip out of his sleeve and into his hand before he plunged it into the imposter’s back. The body convulsed, a sudden gasp breaking the kiss as the interloper slowly realised what was going on. Even as the false Yondu pulled away, tried to push him back, Kraglin latched on. He turned his head and let his extra sets of teeth descend as he grabbed onto the blue jugular before him. The body struggled, trying in vain to push Kraglin away from his neck or to free himself from the knife in his back. Kraglin clung on and the attempts to dislodge him only made him growl and bite harder. Warm blood filled his mouth, leaking over his chin and filling his nose with the stink of blood. Not Yondu’s blood though. Kraglin knew well what centurain blood smelled like by now. That helped his mind disconnect from the savage image he knew he had created. It helped blot out the phantom feelings of panic and fear that he was killing his  captain he was betraying Yondu he swore he would never hurt him and he was killing him - No! The Hyraxian snarled more pointedly as he felt the body’s fight grow weaker, than shudder, twitch, then fall still. Only when all movement had ceased did Kraglin unlatch his jaws and pull back to view the carnage. The imposter wearing Yondu’s face lay slumped in the chair, the crimson eyes glassy and staring, a mix of shock and fear frozen on the corpse’s face. IT looked far too much like Yondu. Save for the green blood that oozed from the rip where the throat had once been. It helped break up the image a little. Kraglin took a moment before pushing himself back up. He wiped his chin on his jumpsuit, leaving a lurid green stain. With a look of contempt at the corpse, Kraglin spat at it. A wad of phlegm and blood splatted on the corpse’s cooling cheek.

“Ain’t no one get away with tryin’ t’ be my cap’n ‘cept Yondu,” Kraglin growled thickly. His additional teeth were taking their time resetting back into his jaw. Extracting his knife from the body’s spine, he wiped it down on the leg of his jump suit before hiding it back in its sheath. As he turned to leave he gave one last glance to the body.

“An’ jus’ so’s ya know? Yer a shit kisser.”

 

\----

_ “S’how come ya hate kissin’ so much?” _

Yondu groaned from the bunk he was lying in. He’d finally accepted that he’d rattled his skull more than he normally does and that was the reason he was having conversations with a hallucination of his first mate. His brain couldn’t even have the decency to have him seeing Kraglin so he could at least have something nice to look at, no it had to be auditory only. He kept catching himself talking freely as if it really was kraglin on the other end of a com line and not just his own scrambled grey matter. It was that very same scrambled brain that Yondu fervently blamed for the fact he was indulging the hallucination so willingly. He talked freely with Kraglin all the time, in private. Sentiment rotted the brain, you couldn’t just harp on about your feelings or whatever was on your chest whenever you felt like it.

“Jus’ cos ya hyraxians got a mouth fetish dun mean I share it,” he grumbled aloud. The chuckle made his heart squirm. It was Kraglin’s perfect little dirty titter that promise so so much.

_ “Go humour me sir.” _

He sighed heavily and stared up at the bunk above him. “Ain’t some big conspiracy or nothin’. S’a perfect practical reason why I don’t like it.”

_ “Yer stallin’,” _ came the sing song reply with just the right hint of sleaze behind it. Yondu grinned.

“Fine ya asshole. Centurains whistle t’fight, right?” There was a noise of acknowledgement from hullication voice. “Sa why would any respectin’ warrior let ‘emselves be disarmed like that jus’ t’ make someun’ know they like em? Ain’t practical. Better way t’ let ‘em know be t’ go kill the biggest fucker ya can find an dump it on there doorstep.”

_ “Like ya did fer our last anniversary?” _

“Exactly like that,” Yondu confirmed. “Woulda thought yer people woulda felt the same, what with ‘em teeth.”

_ “Well its like ya said, sir,” _ Kraglin replied,  _ “us hyraxians got that mouth fetish thing goin’ on. You ain’t gonna complain’ bout it now are ya?” _

Yondu gave a dirty chuckle at the memory then winced. The throbbing from the head wound hadn’t let up and it would random flare up as a jabbing spike of pain in his skull. He’d tried to treat it with what he had on board but there wasn’t much in the way of first aid supplies on an M-ship. The general consensus was that if you were on an M-ship and needed medical aid, you were close enough to the galleon to call for help or you were already fucking dead. No use on wasting valuable supplies on corpses. What little he did have he had struggled to use. His hands were no longer responding properly and he had a hard time even persuading them to uncurl from a half clenched state. He left bloody finger streaks and handprints on everything he touched. Come to think of it, that amount of steady blood loss could explain why the pain in his skull was getting worse and why he felt so out of it. At least a lack of blood was something that was simple to fix when he was back on the Elector. Brain damage...well that was a tricker one.

With unsteady steps, Yondu pulled himself up and staggered over to the com unit station. He collapsed into the chair he had pushed beside it and stared at the blinking light.

_ “We’re comin’ fer ya cap’n,” _ soothed the hallucination. _ “I ain’t ever gonna leave ya.” _

“I know Kraggles,” Yondu murmured, resting his aching head on the cool metal of the unit. “I trust ya.” He raised a badly bandaged hand and drew one bloody finger down the wall, leaving a dark trail in its wake. With a loose smile, Yondu dragged the blood in a rough geometric pattern. When he deemed his masterwork complete, he withdrew his shaking hand to admire the artwork. “Hey, whaddya think?” he asked the open air.

_ “Aw, ya designin’ me a new tattoo sir?” _ Kraglin’s voice crackled. Yondu could just picture the teary eyed dopey look on his First mate’s face perfectly. _ “Aw, Cap’n I love it! Wha’s this one mean?” _

“S’ ‘loyalty’” Yondu replied, waving a trembling hand dismissively. “Lease as close as I cans remember anyhows.”

_ “S’just perfect, Cap’n,”  _ the hallucination gushed.  _ “Whaddya reckon, I oughta get this one on mah neck like we talked ‘bout or somewhere more...private like?” _

The centurian chuckled, letting his eyes drift closed. Just for a minute or so. “S’up t’ you, Kraggles,” he slurred. “It’ll look good on ya wherever ya get it.”

Every survival instinct Stakar, Aleta and the other original ravager captains had drummed into him all those years ago made one thing clear: if you are stranded, don’t rest until you know you are secure and help is on the way. But try as he might to follow those drummed in instincts, his brain was telling him that he was safe. After all, Kraggles was here. He could always trust Kraglin to watch his back no matter what. His eyes drifted closed. 

Just for a minute or two....

Just for a minute….

Just for a...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One 'Yondu' down, time to rescue the real one!
> 
> Comments, kudos and concerns welcome!


	6. Rescue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kraglin and Peter to the rescue! Will they get to Yondu in time?

There was something terrifying about being put in charge of someone's survival. Up until this point, Yondu and the rest of the crew had made it clear they didn't' trust Quill with a screwdriver, let alone someone's life. Oh sure, when you were on a job, everyone relied on each other to make sure they got the loot and then got out again with minimal injury. But in those times, there were always other people, someone else who could pick up the slack. Now though... If peter fuckedup, Yondu was dead.

It was a daunting thought. There were plenty of times where Peter would fantasize about Yondu not returning from a job or dropping dead so he wouldn't continue to make his life a misery. But that was different. That was an external force taking him out, not him doing the deed. No responsibility, no guilt. If he flaked out on this, if he chose to, he would be responsible for that death.

Peter tried not to let those dark swirling thoughts spiraling downwards in his brain show on his face as he headed to the hanger bay. The rest of the crew down there attributed his hunched shoulders, his hands stuck firmly in his pockets and distant gaze to be the usual signs of a terren teenage strop and left him be. It was a much better scenario. Peter trudged his way over to the M-ship he had long ago commandeered as his. It wasn't much to look at and was by far one of the oldest models. Compared to most of the private M-ships on board the Elector, it was a slice of bread to a gourmet meal. But it was his and Peter knew it better than anyone else. He headed up the ramp and into the cockpit. Settling himself in the leather seat he brought up the signal scanner. Sure, the other M-ships had better scanners, stronger ones too, but he didn't want to risk messing around with an unfamiliar system. It would be far too easy for him to fuck it up and right now any fuck up would cost a life. Peter took a deep breath to steady himself and blinked away with tears that were pricklign in his eyes. Come on Quill, Cut it out! Yondu wasn't dead yet, if he gave up now then the blue bastard would be. He could do this.

The scanner system gave a ping as it sifted through the various transmission and signal data that streamed through the airwaves. It was a low number, much lower than he would get in normal space but that was to be expected with the ion nebula blocking out everything. Flexing his fingers, he refined the search. Widened the frequency range, tune out the background fuzz. He removed a few of the stronger signals from the search meters. The electors com and beacon signal was practically a deafening fog horn in a sea of windchimes, blotting out most others signals. He didn't need to know where the Eclector was, he needed to find Yondu's signal. Peter chewed his lip as he thumbed through the list of signal waves. He was looking for the distress sequence wave. Failing that, yondu's personal signal. Both were ones he knew well, it had been drummed into him forcefully when he first started his flight training. 

So far, nothing.

He couldn't' give up. Yondu was counting on him. Kraglin had believed in him enough to give him this task rather than assign it to an older crewmate like Tullk and Horuz. He wouldn't let them down.

He flicked a few switches on the dashboard, boosting the power to the signal relay. Still nothing. The ion interference created so much background fuzz in the signals that it was near impossible to pick out a weak signal within it. It was a needle in a haystack. Expect with a needle in a haystack you could cheat your way out with a magnet to pull the sucker out-.

Peter paused and blinked. Magnet...pull out the signal. If he could find a way to make the scanner shift through the fuzz for something that wasn't ion electric interference, he would be able to find spot a signal!

Peter threw himself out of his seat and dashed down the ramp, skidding as he went. He made a beeline to the nearest pile of tools and grabbed a box at random. He ignored the disgruntled queries on what the hell he was up to and instead ran back to his M-ship with the tools. Tucking the tools under his arm, he clambered up the side of his M-ship with one arm like a monkey. Straddling the hull, he prised off the relay antenna panel. He needed to make it hone in on M-ship frequencies and ignore all other forms of signal. Wetting his lips, he grabbed out a positron remote and started the delicate work of disassembling the main array.

“Hey Quill,” called on of the crew down below, “the fuck you doin’?”

“Busy! Can’t talk, leave a message!” Peter called back, not even bothering to look away from his work. The crewmember - new recruit, pretty sure his name was something stupid like Wretch or something, real buddy buddy with Taserface - apparently disliked that answer.

“You better answer me when I talk t’ you Quill,” Wretch snapped. “Else yer gonna find yerself in a world a’ hurt.”

Peter remained focused on disassembling the relay. His only response was to give Wretch a view of his middle finger before taking his headphones from around his neck and putting them over his ears. He didn’t press the play button of his walkman though, He needed to concentrate on this else he would fry the whole array, but it got the message across clear enough. Wretch threw a string of curses at him before trudging off to sulk somewhere else. Yeah, if he knew what Peter was up to he wouldn’t treat him like this. Wait, no, he’d probably b worse and go tell Taserface it was free season on beating up Terren. Yep, better keep that one under wraps. Peter rubbed his nose before sticking the handle of the positron remote in his mouth. He grabbed out the next tool and started to tease apart the delicate wires and circuitry that told the signal array how to think. With great care he stripped out most of the circuits and wirings leaving only a handful left. He tossed the tool aside and took the positron remote out of his mouth and used it to seal up the removed wires and make sure everything was still connected enough to function. He grabbed out a fuseline and slotted it into place. Now the array could handle a much larger power rate without frying. Hopefully anyway. Peter looked at his work, checking it over. It was ugly and his signal antenna and array was now practically useless in a conventional use but it would hold. He didn’t bother putting the panel back in place or moving the tool bag as he slid down the hull with practised ease. He may need to fix something it his patchwork frankenstein system blew out. AS soon as his boots touched the hangar floor he darted back inside his M-ship, practically throwing himself into the cockpit chair to start up the signal scanner.

“Come on, come on…” he muttered under his breath in desperation as he watched the mangled scanner chug its way through the signal scan. He dismissed the error messages as soon as they popped up.

_ Error: Hub site signal tracking offline. _ Delete.

_ Error: Proximity signal scanner offline.  _ Delete.

_ Error: Anominal alert tracking off-  _ Delete.

_ Error: Ego- _ Delete.

Peter slammed the screen as he deleted the latest error message. Stupid tech and its million and one redundant programs. He didn’t have time for this! Pulling up another screen, he refined the search parameters and then boosted the power usage allotment to as high as he could. 

_ [Scanning: ] _ __   
_ [Parameters - Class ship M. ] _ __   
_ [Priority signal - Udota, Yondu. ] _ _   
_ __ [Classification priority search: Distress, hail, communication.]

Peter rubbed his face nervously as he watched the scanner signal telemetry come in. There was still a lot of fuzz but it was a lot deal less now, barely even a background hum.

_ [Signal located.] _

He was caught off guard by the pop up message that it took him a moment to even register that it had appeared. As soon as he had, he was on it in an instant. He grabbed the screen and pulled up the details on the now highlighted frequency.

_ Signal origin: Warbird, Ship class M Designated transport of Udonta, Yondu. Classification: [Distress current time since first transmission two cycles and 4 hours. Send distress receive confirmation: y/n] _

Two cycles. Yondu had been broadcasting for help for over two cycles. Shakily, Peter hit the confirm icon and a message flashed up saying that the rescue hail had been sent in reply. He slumped back in the cockpit’s chair. He felt like the wind had been punched out of him. He’d done it. He’d found Yondu’s signal and told him they were on their way.Two cycles.. Peter realised that since he had been taken from Earth, he’d never been left alone for anything longer than half a day. Even on one of his ill fated attempts to run away, Yondu had always found him and dragged him back. With a shaking hand, Peter brought up the internal coms on his datapad and pinged Kraglin.

“I’ve found him,” he said, doing his best to hide the tremble in his voice. “Distress signal. I’ve sent the reply signal, so he knows we’ll be coming for him now.”

_ “Good,” _ grunted Kraglin.  _ “Ya reckon ya can narrow it down t’ a where?” _

Peter thought for a moment. “If we take my ship, yeah I think so.”

_ “Fuck no kid,”  _ growled Kraglin,  _ “we’ll take mine down, ain’t tha’ different.” _

“I had to fuck with my coms array to even be able to get his distress signal,” Peter snapped. “I don’t know if I’ll be able to do it again on your ship so how about we save time and take the one that’s already set up and not leave Yondu down there any longer!”

There was the crackle of static for a few moments and then the sound of Kraglin sighing.

_ “Fine. Get yer bird ready t’ head out. Be there soon as I’m cleaned up.” _

The call terminated and Peter stared at the blank screen for a minute. He had stood up to Kraglin and Kraglin had listened to his suggestion. This was turning into one fucked up day. Taking one final steadying breath, Peter pulled himself up and got to work to make his ship ready for its maiden rescue mission.

 

\----

The flight down was tense. Kraglin was at the controls and Peter was sat in the co-pilot’s seat, his eyes darting between the telemetry signal ping readouts and the view outside the ship. Kraglin had his eyes firmly on their surroundings, looking for any sign of the captain’s M-ship. He would rather he didn’t have the snot-nosed brat as his co-pilot but unfortunately, the kid knew what he was looking at with the mangled signal array readouts, and he needed Tullk and Horuz to stay on the Eclector and keep order whilst he was gone. The official story was that he was scouting another possible loot site and Quill was coming along for the practise. He was pretty sure most of the crew thought it was an excuse to boot Quill out of the airlock and claim it was an accident. He had to admit, it was a mighty tempting idea at times.

“Signal’s about due right of us,” Peter called out, gesturing with his right hand.

“I know wha’ way right is, Quill,” snapped Kraglin. 

They were both on edge, both desperate for a sign of the downed ship and both dreading what they might find when they did. Kraglin kept the ship at a steady pace following Quill’s directions and then flying in a grid search pattern until Peter picked up the signal spike to tell them where to go next. They had so far flown over several ruins, starting from the coordinates that had been provided with the job. IT was as good a starting point as any. They had been at this for several hours now and each passing one increased the tension in the cockpit. Kraglin was more than willing to keep searching until night fell and then through that if he had to.

Suddenly, there was a glint in the desert light. Kraglin noticed it at the same time that Quill let out a shout.

“There! There, straight ahead, near those cliffs, I’m sure of it! It’s a massive spike, we've got to be like almost right on top of it!”

Kraglin didn’t need to be told twice before gunning the controls to send the M-ship towards the glinting at the base of the cliffs. As they got closer they could now more clearly see the half buried carcass of Yondu’s Warbird. The relentless wind had sandblasted at the hull leaving it streaked and dulled. The sand that had piled up against the sides of the ship blew about in the downdraft from the rescue ship’s thrusters. Kraglin lined up the ship carefully. M-ships were designed to be stacked together when not in use - it saved a great deal of space in a hangar bay when you had over a hundred of the small M-ships stowed away at a time. When they were stacked, the upper and lower airlocks latched together to allow for easy traversement for maintenance. It also worked as a useful trick when you needed to rescue a crewmate form a damaged ship. Now they were close enough, Kraglin could see the broken maw that was the front windshield.

“Gonna need ya t’ go check the cockpit fer anythin’ so go suit up, Quill,” Kraglin said, flicking a few switches to remote activat the downed ship’s airlock to let him lock into place. “Air outside ain’t friendly t’ anyone tha’ wants t’ keep on livin’.”

Peter nodded and unstrapped himself from his seat. If Yondu had been able to get a signal out to them, it meant he wasn’t dead in the broken cockpit at least. Kraglin might hate the Terren brat but he knew Yondu would hate Kraglin more if he let the boy get traumatised. Best to send Peter to scout out the cockpit and retrieve anything of worth whilst Kraglin checked out the main area of the M-ship.

There was a heavy  _ thunk  _ as the two M-ships locked together, magnetic couplings latching onto each other and providing a safe passage between the two. Kraglin powered down the engines before he too unbuckled and headed towards the lower hatch. He passed Quill who had just finished suiting up. Peter strapped the boot thrusters into place before giving Kraglin a gloved thumbs up. His face was obscured by a tight hood and an old hand-me-down space mask. 

“Ya tell me t’ moment ya find anythin’, kay?” Kraglin told the boy.

“Sure thing,” came the robotic reply. 

“An’ make sure t’ get the black box,” reminded Kraglin. “Gotta know what happened fer sure.”

“Yessir,” Peter said and gave the first mate a traditional ravager salute before heading to the back of the ship and the free airlock. Kraglin wasn’t sure if having peter act so obedient was heartwarming or terrifying. He would worry about that later. Steeling himself, Kraglin opened the hatch of the lower airlock and slipped down into the darkness below.

 

The first thing that hit him was the smell. A powerful reek of blood filled his nostrils and made his gums ache as his extra teeth threatened to extend. It was a familiar smell and Kraglin wished that it wasn’t.

Centurian blood.

Moving carefully, Kraglin opened the inner airlock door and stepped out into the main area. Dark blood was streaked across almost every surface. Yondu’s red ravager coat was discarded on the floor in an undignified heap. Moving cautiously, Kraglin walked over to it and picked the garment up. It wasn’t streaked with blood as everything else but it was torn and Kraglin could see the pockmarks where acid from the air outside had soaked in and eaten away at the deep red hide. 

_ “Kraglin, _ ” crackled Peter’s voice over his coms _ , “I’ve made it to the cockpit, no sign of Yondu. Anything your end?” _

“Lotta blood,” Kraglin replied honestly. “Get the black box an’ then head back t’ the ship an’ stay there, copy?”

_ “Yessir,” _ Peter replied. The obedience was still not sitting right with Kraglin if he was honest with himself. _ “Do you want me to grab the trinkets and the case too whilst I’m here?” _

“Case?” Kraglin asked, confused.

_ “Yeah, one of those big silver crates you guys use for transporting delicate stuff. Its kinda just sitting here. Want me to open it up and check it?” _

“Jus’ bring it back,” Kraglin ordered. As an afterthought he added, “an’ cap’n’ll probably ‘prciate it if ya get his shinies out for ‘im.”

_ “Do you think he’ll appreciate it enough to start calling me Starlord?” _ Peter joked.

“Don't push it Quill,” Kraglin replied. That felt better. Normal levels of Quill sass rather than terrified obedient ravager. He knew how to respond to that. Hooking the jacket over his shoulders to keep his arms free, Kraglin followed the blood trails. The meager washroom was slick with dried blood. It covered the basin and the facet and every surface around it. A med kit lay with its innards sprawling over the filthy surface, stained with yet more of Yondu’s blood. Discarded rags and towels were in varying stages of bloodsoaked. Kraglin backed out and followed the trails again. M-ships weren't that large but coming down from the top hatch tended to screw with a person’s internal map system. Kraglin picked up his long legged stride as he saw more blood on the walls, bloody handprints on the side of door frame as though someone had clasped onto them for support. He wasn’t running but when he saw the bloody streaks starting to form patterns on the walls, words and pictographs, he started half jogging. So far all he had found of Yondu was his coat and his blood. No body. There was one last place he had to check.

 

He reached the bunkroom. Like on any M-ship, it was a small affair. Just one double bunk and enough room for a table and stool. On the far wall sat the internal com station. The stench of blood nearly overwhelmed him as he opened the door. But there, at the far side of the room, leaning against the internal com unit was Yondu. Kraglin ignored the blood streaked mess of the bunks, ignored the clear signs that Yondu had barely moved from this room for likely the last cycle. All he could focus on was his captain. He skidded the last steps and looked over Yondu.

He was in bad shape, that much was obvious, even without his blood covering the M-ship like a b-rate slasher film. He hadn’t reacted to Kraglin’s entrance at all. His eyes were closed as he leaned his head against the wall. Bloody symbols littered the area around him. Some Kraglin recognised as Centurain runes - he had helped Yondu track down the right clan language after all - and some seemed a uncoordinated hodgepodge of lesser kree, centurian and ravager drawn by a drunk. The source of the bloody drawings was easily apparent. Haphazard bandages barely covered the blistered and broken skin on Yondu’s hands revealing an oozing mess. That was only one of the most obvious injuries. The second made Kraglin’s throat clench in worry. Dark blood crusted the side of Yondu’s head and a mottled hand sized bruise spread along his bald scalp. There was obvious swelling around the base of the dully glowing implant where the internal bruising had spread outwards. That was of course only the bruising he could see. Unlike most humanoid races, centurians didn’t show bruises unless it was severe. Kraglin dropped to his knees by his captain and placed a gentle hand on yondu’s cheek. His skin was clammy and cold but Kraglin let out a sigh of relief as Yondu stirred.

“Cap’n,” he sighed, not bothering to hide the relief from his voice. “Easy now, I’ve got ya. Sorry took s’long.”

Yondu half opened his eyes, his gaze unfocused and unsteady as he looked at Kraglin. One eye was completely bloodshot, giving an eerie look of the red iris on near black background. Slowly he seemed to register Kraglin but rather than berate Kraglin for leaving him stranded for so long as he was expecting, he started to laugh. It wasn’t a happy laugh though, more a self deprecating chuckle that tore at Kraglin’s chest.

“Finalleh get t’see ya stead a jus hearin’ ya now,” he slurred. “S’probably bad thing, don’t care though.”

“Cap’n?” Kraglin said, worry building in his chest. It was as if Yondu wasn’t really seeing him. With the large bruising covering his scalp and the very likely internal bleeding alongside that, the worry soon became a gnawing pit. Yondu needed medical care now, fuck Yondu’s ongoing hatred of all this medical. He wanted to just grab Yondu and drag him back to Quill’s M-ship and blast straight back to the Eclector. But he had to keep a cool head. Who knows what other injuries Yondu had and how much worse Kraglin might make things if he drags him around. He reaches up slowly with his other hand so that he was cupping both sides of Yondu’s face. The blue idiot just smiles and chuckles sadly again, his eyes starting to drift closed once more.

“Cap’n eyes on me,” Kraglin barked, his gentle clutching of Yondu’s face now a tad more forceful. Yondu groaned and blearily opened his eyes to scowl at his first mate. Good, scowling was better than that weird chirruping nonsense he was doing before.

“Fuck ya, Kraggles,” Yondu slurred, wincing as his scowl pulled on his aching head. “Fuckin’ preferred it wen ya were only a voice in m’head.”

“I ain’t a voice in yer head cap’n,” he reassured Yondu. Secretly, the gnawing bit in his gut was softened by the warm fuzzy feelings that it was his voice the captain heard when he was badly wounded. On closer inspection, there goes the warm fuzzies. Kraglin stroked Yondu’s cheek, drawing a tract in the dry blood as it flaked away. “I ain’t a voice, I’m here fer real.”

“Nah, see, cos real Kraggle’s ain’t this soppy,” Yondu crowed. “An’ I’d know if he were here cos the beacon light would be-”

He stopped, his focus now on the com station unit and the solid unblinking light on the distress signal. Slowly, he looked back to Kraglin, still kneeling before him with his hands holding his face. He blinked and then slowly smiled. He reached up a bandage trailing hand to hold Kraglin’s larger, bonier hands. Kraglin smiled back. It was a moment of pure relief for both of them, something serene and precious that neither wanted to break. 

 

That was until Yondu promptly passed out and fell onto Kraglin. If he hadn't been kneeling and holding his head, Kraglin wasn’t sure he would have been able to catch him in time. Was it was, the sudden dead weight of Yondu falling on him sent them both crashing to the ground. Kraglin panicked momentarily and spent a few frantic seconds checking for a pulse and that Yondu was still breathing. He let out a sigh when he managed to confirm both. He let his head sink back with Yondu’s head cushioned on his bony torso. He would need to get up and haul his blue lump of a captain back to the M-ship and would probably need to com Peter to help move him but for just a minute he let himself relax.

 

Captain was alive. He was (relatively) safe. 

Things were going to be alright.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Captain is saved Let the comfort and fluff commence.
> 
> Comments, kudos and concerns welcome


	7. Try something new

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yondu and Kraglin reunite in Yondu's cabin whilst the captain' recovers.

Life aboard the Eclector returned to whatever it had to resemble normality. Kraglin had worried that getting Yondu back on board unseen would be the hardest part. If any of the crew saw Yondu this injured, there would be mutiny. It was times like that then that he relied on people like Horuz and Tullk to help him out. As soon as Quill’s butchered M-ship was back on board, Kraglin’s com lit up with several unread messages, all of which he quickly went through. Tullk had found hacked systems and coded messages waiting in a buffer for a chance to send -copies of which he had forwarded to both Kraglin and Horuz before wiping clean. Horuz had dug around on the black box and found some juice little secrets for them which included the names of three crewmembers that had been selling information on the Eclector’s movements. Now that was something Kraglin could work with. Captain injured from a crash and laying around planetside for a rescue for cycles? Mutiny waiting to happen. Captain keeping a low profile whilst he hunted down and dispatched traitors and getting injured in the process? That called for celebrations.

He sent Peter out with the recovered crate of loot to take to Horuz whilst he composed his plan and sent it off. He needed to wait for the hangar bay to clear anyway so he could get Yondu out without being spotted. As soon as the coast was clear he braced Yondu’s body against his own and started the long and aching walk to the med bay. Once there, Kraglin left Yondu in the capable hands of their sole medical droid. A last message telling Quill to go to med bay for a “check up and bring a gun”, Kraglin sauntered off. He needed to catch up to Tullk for a little wander around the lower decks before the man beat him to the hunt.

After that, time flew by. The engines were repaired and they were finally able to leave the ion nebula and that meant they were able to receive signal again. Kraglin’s announcement of ‘Yondu’s’ actions to take out traitors were met with the usual level of surliness. It seemed most were put out that they didn’t have the opportunity to make the traitors on the crew pay themselves. But the promise of their next stop at Contraxia improved any lingering ill will they had. Giving the crew a chance to cut loose also gave a chance for Yondu to fully recover before they took a new job. The fact that Contraxia also boasted some of the best ‘no questions asked’ clinics this side of either shi’ar or Nova was entirely beside the point and had no bearing at all in the decision making process. Not that crew would ever realise; the promise of cheap drinks and cheap company kept them happy. Things had finally settled down. At least as much as life aboard a Ravager ship was ever settled.

 

Kraglin allowed that cheerful thought to fill his steps as he walked along the corridor to the captain’s cabin. As usual, Yondu had refused to stay in the med bay a second longer than he felt he needed and had promptly escaped back to his cabin as soon as he was conscious and able to walk without falling over. And just as usual, Kraglin was the only one Yondu allowed near him in order to take his flarkin’ medicine and change the bandages. With that in mind, he walked up to the captain’s door with confidence and was rewarded as the sensor detected the appropriate signal from the yaka pendant and the door slid open.

Stepping inside, he took in the surroundings. Yondu curled up on his fur covered bed and jabbing ineffectual at a data pad with his heavily bandaged hands. Sighing, Kraglin crossed the room and plucked the data pad from Yondu’s bandaged mittens.

“Cap’n, yer not meant t’ be strainin’ yer hands till the skins healed up,” he said and matching Yondu’s indignant pout with his own mocking imitation.

“An’ how’m I meant t’ get work done till then, huh?” Yondu grumbled. He made an attempt to get the datapad from Kraglin but his first mate only held it higher. 

“Tha’s why ya’ve got me sir,” he reminded. Placing the datapad out of Yondu’s reach, he took out a fresh roll of bandages and nanogel. Yondu eyed both items with intense distrust. Kraglin tutted good naturedly. “Come on sir, quicker ya let me get this done, the quicker I can give ya a treat.”

That managed to grab Yondu’s attention. He offered only his customary pretence of grumbling as he presented his bandaged hands for Kraglin’s inspection. Taking one hand at a time, Kraglin gently unwrapped the bandages until he reached the gauze held in place by nanogel and bloody scabs. Peeling off the gauze was an unpleasant part for both of them but Kraglin never flinched as he ripped away the soiled gauze and yondu never so much as grunted in pain at the procedure. As soon as the gauze was gone, Kraglin gently turned the hand over, inspecting every angel to see how the broken skin was healing. Then it was time to slather it in nanogel, slap on new gauze and re-wrap Yondu’s hand into an unmoving mitten. Then repeat the entire process on the other hand. It was a process they had managed to get down to a fine art form now. Any medical professional would have a heart attack if they saw it of course but they were ravagers. So long as nothing looked like it was actively rotting and about to fall off, slapping nanogel and covering it was the best they were going to care. With Yondu’;s hand now mummified in fresh bandaging, he swatted Kraglin away.

“Ya promised treats,” he reminded and Kraglin foguth to not grin. Yondu was worse than a fussy toddler at times. 

“Ya treat’s comin’ with lunch,” he said, not bothering to hide the smirk that developed as yondu huffed and folded his arms. Well, Captain would be less fussy when he saw the nice big tin of Beasties Kraglin had requisitioned from the cook for the captain. He reached across and picked up the discarded datapad. “Now’en, what’s you want me t’ look up fer ya?”

Yondu huffed and leaned back, arms still folded. “Dun matter, was jus lookin’ fer new jobs. An’ I reckon I’m owed a proper treat, puttin up with all yer fussin’ lately. I ain’t crippled.”

Kraglin decided it was best not to remind Yondu that he had no use of his hands currently. His hands might be out of commision but his whistle certainly wasn’t. Putting the datapad out of Yondu’s reach again, he gave his captain an amused questioning look.

“An’ what sorta treat ya thinkin’ ‘bout?” he asked, his voice dropping to a sultry purr.

“I want ya t’ kiss me.”

Kraglin’s jaw dropped in shock. All amusement was gone from his face to make way for flapping disbelief.

“Um, say again, cap’n?” he squeaked. Yondu kept his gaze firmly on the ceiling of his cabin, arms still folded. The heavy bruising that now covered almost half his face as well as his entire scalp as it healed, an unpleasant mottled mess of bruising, failed to hide the slow blush that crept up his neck and cheeks.

“Ya heard me,” he replied curtly, not taking his eyes off the ceiling as his blush spread. Kraglin sat there blinking, his mouth opening and closing soundlessly like a gasping fish.

“Y’sure?”

“Yep.”

“I mean real sure…”

“Yep.”

“Ya sure I don’t need t’ go get a medi-scanner fer yer head-”

“Kraglin, jus’ flarkin’ kiss me already!”

The highly confused First Mate ran a hand through his mohawk. “But ya hate kissin’ cap’n! S’like...one of ya big rules fer cabin politics.”

“Woulda thought ya’d have jumped at the chance then,” Yondu mumbled. He broke off his gaze from the ceiling to instead focus on his bandaged hands. He ineffectively paws one bandaged mit at the other. Had his hands been free, he would have started to pick apart the bandages. Without thinking, Kraglin reached over and held his hands still. The contact forced Yondu to still and slowly he brought his gaze up to Kraglin’s face. Kraglin’s brain meanwhile only just managed to catch up with what his body was doing and just how close he was now to Yondu. A dark blue blush started to spread across his face. It was now his turn to drop his gaze to his hands, still holding Yondu’s.

“It ain’t I don’t wanna,” Kraglin said slowly, his words careful, “its jus’, it ain’t somethin’ you want. Least not normally. Usually ya jus’ tell me if I wanna have an oral fixation-”

“Ya can have it on my dick,” Yondu finished with a fond chuckle. “Yeah, well I did plenty of thinkin’ back there-”

“M’sorry sir-”

“Ya Quill or summit? Don’t interrupt me! As I was sayin’, did some thinkin’ an’ reckon...maybe I’d be up fer findin’ out what ya see in this kissin’ melarky.”

Kraglin slowly raised his head to look into Yondu’s face. Both were blushing worse than a pair of lovestruck teenagers on their first fumble. Kraglin ran his tongue over his lips as a he let a slow hopeful smile turn the corners of his mouth.

“Only if yer sure sir. Ya change yer mind ya jus’ gotta say.”

“S’just a kiss,” Yondu groused, “ain’t like m’askin’ ya t’do anythin’ kinky.”

 

His first mate gave a weak chuckle. Still holding hands, he leaned forward slowly, his bony weight shifting on the bed. Yondu did his best to settle the blush in his face and is heavy breathing. He closed his eyes. It was just a kiss, it was just Kraglin. He wanted so much more of Kraglin. It was all he could think of when he was alone and maybe this would help shift those lingering whispers from his brain. 

For Kraglin, he tried to keep his breathing steady. Banish the images of his last kiss with Yondu - except it wasn’t Yondu because Yondu wouldn’t act like the imposter did. But what if he did? What if Kraglin reacted the same and tore out his captain’s throat as soon as they started making out? He closed his eyes, taking in the smell of Yondu, the feel of his heavy breath on his face and the feel of the bandages beneath his hands.

Gently, so gently, Kraglin brushed his lips against Yondu’s. It was little more than a peck but it was enough to cause Kraglin to pull back blushing a very obvious blue. Yondu was blushing just as heavily. They caught each other’s eyes and started to chuckle. The chuckles turned into helpless fits of giggles. Here they were, Captain and First Mate of the Udonta ravager clan getting all hot and bothered on the smallest of brief kisses. The laughter soon subsided as Yondu hissed in pain and held his bruised head. His mate gave him a sympathetic look.

“Ya pulled somthin?”

Yondu grunted and leaned back against his furs and pillows.  The blush had finally started to retreat from his skin. 

“Sooner we get tha’ clinic on Contraxia t’ check this over the better,” he grumbled. Kraglin chuckled and puleld the furs closer around his grumpy captain.

“Ain’t gonna be long now. Ya know it's bad if yer goin’ t’ go willin’.”

“Not so fast there, Obfenteri,” Yondu leered. The effect was less appealing when he looked like he had lost a face smashing contest with Taserface. “I jus wanna make sure ain’t nothin’ fucked up with my implant, no more’n that.. But...maybe ya can give me some encouragement t’ let ‘em check over more?”

Kraglin gave a long suffering sigh and rolled his eyes. “How’s beasties fer lunch sound?” Yondu made a play of concidering the notion.

“Ifin it comes with another of ‘em kisses, I think we got a bargain.”

The blush that had finally faded away form Kraglin’s face returned full force. He gave Yondu a dopey grin, which caused his captain to roll his eyes.

“Aye sir,” he said. He gently leaned forward and gave Yondu another small peck. This time on the cheek and being mindful of the bruising. Standing up, he picked up the medical supplies he had brought with him. Tucked up in his furs and pillows, Yondu looked for all the world like the cat that had gotten the cream, the canary and the sunday roast. But beneath the casual front, Kraglin could see just how nervous Yondu was, as well as just how gleeful his captain was on their newest interaction.

 

As Kraglin left, Yondu settled down to rest and bury the warm fuzzy glow he felt deep in his chest where no one would see it. Couldn’t let people think he was getting soft now. For now, it was best to hide the curling pleasure and excited tingles he felt from Kraglin’s presence and their little forays into displays of affection.

_ “Told ya so _ ,” crowed the voice of Kraglin in his mind. He knew it was just a leftover hallucination from the brain trauma; soon enough it would be just another buried part of his subconscious. But for now he would let his Kraglin have his little moment at least. 

Maybe there was something to this kissing business after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because blushy delicate kisses between two hardened ravagers are the best! 
> 
> Thank you all for reading through to he end. Thanks once again to my two artists and to obfenteri for organising the Big Bang. 
> 
> To wrap up some loose ends that I didn't tidy up in the fic itself:  
> \- The treasure they looted got sold off to help pay for yondu's treatment on the sly.  
> \- Kraglin gave the body of not-Yondu to the med-bot to use for spare parts.  
> \- Not Yondu was able to look like Yondu because alien plastic surgery.  
> \- who was he working for and why go to such lengths? I leave that for someone else to come up with :P
> 
> Once again, comments, kudos and concerns are always welcome!  
> 

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Kragdu Big Bang. Not beta'd so sorry for any mistakes! Big thanks to my two artists! [The Infernal Whistler ](https://theinfernalwhistler.tumblr.com/post/168434449146/heya-this-is-for-the-kragdu-big-band-2017-its) and [sheepsiesmunin!](http://archiveofourown.org/works/12985998)  
> Comments, Kudos and concerns always welcome.


End file.
